Daughter of Robin Hood
by ifeelfreaky
Summary: Alena, Robin Hood's daughter, is thrown into modern day Florida at age eight. Now she's a sophmore in high school with a mission: to get back home. One problem: she's just met Eric and now will have to leave him behind... or take him with her.
1. A Tale of Not Belonging

**Here is the idea that was presented to you not so long ago. Read, review and ENJOY!! **

**PS~Check out my new BBC Robin Hood fanfic called A Proper Ending. It's for those of us who want a logical reason why Marian couldn't have died. aka she deserved an invite to that surprise party and hence wouldn't have been dragged to the Holy Land. Gang still goes of course, they have to save the king, but Gisborne would already be heartbroken and wouldn't feel the urge to murder dear Marian. Sorry for the rant. **

My name is Alena Hood and I am sixteen years old. My father's name is Robin and my mother's name is Marian. Yes, that's right; I'm the daughter of Robin Hood. There are a few slight problems, though. I live in Florida and the year is 2008. I was eight years old when I first came here, ripped away in what I now realize was a time machine gone wrong.

I remember sneaking away from my home in Sherwood, of course that would be an outlaw camp, and enjoying the warm sun filtering through the trees. Suddenly there was this bright flash of light. Three men appeared out of nowhere; they wore strange clothes and carried long knives and shiny black circular object, which I now recognize as guns.

"What happened?" one of them said gruffly. He had a black mop for hair and a thin mustache. "We're supposed to be in the future! In Florida! My tracking band claims that this is England in the year 1196."

They hadn't seen me so I had snuck closer, thinking that these were enemies and I should spy to get information that might be useful to my father. I was a stupid little girl, inquisitive and eager to please.

"I've got the same," a thin one agreed.

"Let's head back and tweak it." The last one frowned. "I knew something was wrong! Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?"

"This thing was my idea," the black-haired one said. "And all you two do is screw it up! You just better hope our return system isn't fudged."

I had been puzzled by his strange new words and phrases. 'Fudged' and 'screw it up'.

All I had known was that these men were exotic and new and my curiosity got the better of me. I snuck even closer, keeping silent as my outlaw training had taught me, and hiding from them every step of the way. Concealed behind an elm, I was so close that I could reach out and touch. Then the bright light came back and I was sucked into it, small prickles of pain covering my body. I screamed, but the moment I opened my mouth it was over and I was face-down on a hard metal floor with the shoes of the three men surrounding me.

"Hey! What's this girl doing here? I didn't even see her back there."

I scrambled to my feet, ready to run. But I couldn't find the door. Every wall was a mirror connected to the next in a cylinder shape. I backed up against one of these mirrors and glared at them. "Take me home," I had ordered.

The three men started conversing with each other in low tones. I heard clipped words from them, "Machine won't work twice… Nobody can know we're here… We should get rid of her…"

That's how I ended up in foster care. I hadn't known what it meant at the time, but I do now. The men claimed to the police that they had found me, abandoned, by the side of the freeway. Whenever anyone asked who my parents were and where they could be found I'd proudly say, "I'm the daughter of Robin Hood and Marian. We live in Sherwood Forest." That never went over well. They decided that I had come from an abusive home that had messed with my mind.

After a month and a half I ended up living with the Levitts. Mrs. Levitt insisted that I call her Ella and Mr. Levitt said that I should call him David. They had a son, Jared, but he was in college already. I've been transferred three times to different homes, but I always end up back at David and Ella's. Technically, now they've adopted me, but have let me keep the name 'Hood'. I refuse to call them father and mother, as I still have parents if I can get back to them. I _will _get back to them, too.

One of the things that made my foster home bearable was the wood behind their house. It was where I felt most at home in this strange new era. I escaped there more than Ella and David liked, but what else was I supposed to do? I don't think they would've minded if they weren't trying to convince me that my parentage wasn't real. But since they knew that I staunchly believed that I was the daughter of Robin Hood they didn't like me going into the woods.

I was forced to go to public school which all I can say is the worst torture I've ever heard of. The other people are mean and never let you be yourself. My first day in elementary I tried to make friends with another girl but when I told her who my parents were she burst out laughing and told everyone what a freak I was, and ever since I've been teased about it all through my school days. I'm sure that it doesn't help that I wear long skirts to feel comfortable. I can't imagine wearing anything else.

Not to mention the fact that you have to learn all these worthless things. Where I come from a woman doesn't even know how to read or write. Men, too, sometimes don't know. Especially if they're lowborn. Now a sophomore I know how to read, write, put together numbers in the strangest of ways, speak French, and know more about bodily health than our camp healer. Why do I need to know all these things? Granted I was the best at medieval history up until the year that I was taken away. I know how King Richard will die, and about the Magna Charta that King John will sign! I know that my father will disappear into legend and myth.

So there's a little history leading up to the present. Right now, I'm in art class, the one thing that I can bear about school. I paint portraits of my family, friends and of home. At the moment I'm working a picture of my mother. She's standing with a bow in her hand, an arrow nocked and ready at the string. A wind blows at her skirts and hair. I'm deciding to call it "A Woman of Might and Beauty." The painting is only half complete and I'll be working on it for another month maybe.

"Ten minutes until the bell," Ms. Harvy, the art teacher, says. "Finish up what you're working on."

I work furiously for the next ten minutes until the bell rings loudly in my ears. I sigh. "Goodbye, Mom," I say before leaving the room.

As I step into the hallway and Carmen runs straight into me. Carmen (known as Kitty) is one of my few friends. Okay, my only friend. She wears glasses and has straight dirty blonde hair that hangs limp no matter what you do with it. I think the only reason she's my friend is because she's big into drama and theatre, she likes strange people like me who think that they're somebody they're not. But in this case, I am, of course.

"Alena!" Kitty cries. "You'll never guess! The community theatre is doing a Robin Hood play! Auditions are next weekend and I already got you a script to look at." She shoves a booklet into my hands with a smile. "You're going to try out. You'll be perfect for it since you believe you belong way back then anyway."

"Kitty…"

"No, no, no, and no. You _will _do this thing, no matter what you say about it."

"Fine," I say, "Come over after school and help me go over it."

--*--

That's exactly what we do. Kitty is sitting on my bed with me reading it aloud. We've each taken different parts. I've taken my mother, Marian and my cousin, Will Scarlet. Plus a few other minor parts. Kitty reads the lines of my father and the sheriff.

Kitty breaks in the middle of a romantic scene to tell me that I have to audition for Marian. There's two other female parts but they're peasants. She insists that I should try to get a lead.

"Look," she says, "You go around telling people that you're Robin Hood's daughter. You believe it so well that acting a lead part would come easily."

This explanation does nothing to convince me. "Kitty," I say. "Think of it this way. Imagine that you're performing in a play about _your_ family. You get the part of your mother and have to not only proclaim how much you want to get married to your dad but must also kiss him. I have to kiss my father three times!"

Kitty leans forward and looks me in the eye. "Alena. Stop. It's okay if you don't want to, but… You know I don't truly believe what you say about your family, but I do know that if it was real, which it isn't, being back in your own world even as your mother for two months of rehearsals and acting would have to be _amazing. _And, if it helps, the guy is going to some one your age who doesn't even resemble your dad at all."

I smile at her, admitting to myself that she's right. Still, I close the script and get off my bed. "Come on, let's take a break and go eat junk food and watch episode twelve." When I sat 'episode twelve' what I mean is episode twelve of season two of the BBC show, _Robin Hood. _I, obviously, am a huge fan. But David and Ella don't get BBCA so I had to track down DVD copies of seasons one and two online. I bought both seasons for my collection of movies and books about my true life. I'm never actually mentioned at all! They came close to mentioning me in _Princess of Thieves _starring Kiera Knightley, but my name was Gwyn, my mother died in childbirth and my father was old bald man! My father is only thirty-five not sixty!

Nancy Springer was even more off-track. She had me named Rose or later on, Rowan. But my mother was Clemendine who was a bit of a witch, and Marian was never so much as mentioned. Not only that but my father let me have my own band in another part of the forest!

Ha! That's a laugh. He was always saying that I should never go anywhere alone or unarmed, and that I should never be gone for more than one hour. Strict, yes. At the same time I was eight and living in an outlaw infested forest that you could walk for days without reaching the end of.

Back to that book. Then there was this deal about the princess. In my opinion when you write historical fiction you can't add random princesses who never existed. I'm sorry, there's something wrong with that.

Anyway, Kitty and I are armed with a bag of pretzels and cans of Pepsi on the sofa, and the episode is starting.

**I already went on about this above but we know what comes next!! Poor Alena. She'll watch her own mother's death!!! What do you think about this, reviewers dear? And the play? How do you feel about that?**


	2. A Tale of Screaming for Answers

**Thank yous to Winter Cayde, RobinHood18, Alex Joleta, Bloody Phantom, and Rawr I'm a Toaster. A shout out to any and all theatre peoples: If you could give me some help on what happens in auditions, rehearsals, and opening night I'd much much appreciate it. Thank you, I'm rather lost although it's a subject I'm extremly interested in. I haven't had the chance to try it out yet. Hmph. Anywho: read, review and enjoy!**

I'm shaking, crying, and screaming at the screen. "No! Kitty, they're killing her! They can't do that!" I grab the remote and turn off the DVD player. I'm up and running; out the door and into the woods. My head is filled with unanswered questions. _Has my mother died while I've been gone? Or since they weren't even married when she was run through, does that mean she hasn't? Is it just another flub in history? Or do the BBC writers actually think they can change my family's story with the typing of a script?_

I can't even watch. I run out of the house and into the woods, unable to believe that my mother is dead. "Alena!" Kitty calls after me. "It's only a TV show!" But it's not just a TV show; it's the story of what might have happened after I had disappeared. Was my mother dead? Was that one bit of history that had made it past the fiction? I curl up and sob in the comforting overhang of the trees. The greens and browns make it seem as close to home as I'll ever get.

I am inconsolable as I sob and cry. I'm not just crying for 'Lucy Griffiths character' as I refer to any and all of my history's portrayals, but I'm also crying for the family and home which I lost so many years ago. David and Ella find me an hour later and try to knock 'sense' into head. "It's not real," they say. "You aren't really Robin Hood's daughter. Marian isn't your mother."

I fight against them screaming the truth. "I am! Why can't you believe me!" I push them away as they try to give me a hug. "I want to go home to England and to Sherwood! You can never replace my parents and this _can never_ be home!"

I run. I can't take their attempts to make me forget. I can't accept that I'll never go home again. I know these woods as well as I know the lay-out of my bedroom even though they're much different in size. While my bedroom is twelve feet across this wood is two miles.

I run until I reach a hidden place away from the human eye unless the human is Robin Hood's daughter and raised to be perceptive of everything in the forests. With my new knowledge of modern stories and tales most cheesy main characters have a 'secret place'. Let me make clear to you, reader, that this is _not_ a 'secret place' but something which the most ordinary person cold find if he or she were looking for it. Also, nobody comes here but me since only I would find such interest in this wood.

When I was twelve I had started coming here whenever I was feeling particularly homesick. I made a fire pit lined with stones, kept wood stocked in a dry hollow which also held flint, steel, an oversized t-shirt, belt, and cotton pants. These last three I kept switching them out whenever I outgrew one item or another. Whenever I come here I change into these clothes which are as close as I can get to what I would wear if I were at home. They're men's attire of course; as a girl I would've worn a homespun dress made of wool. What I have on now are easily replenished, and therefore more desirable.

I have only one rule which I abide by in this place: Nothing of the modern world was aloud with the exception of the clothes which I would change out of.

I gathered together handfuls of dried leaves struck the flint and steel together until they caught. I added twigs, branches and then two logs. I had a decent little fire to stare into now. I smelled the wood smoke and dug my bare toes into the dirt. This is as close to home as I ever get.

"You haven't died, have you, Mother? You're still alive and well, I know it!" There is no answer but the crackling flame. "Lucy Griffiths character died before having children so you _must_ live at home." These words comfort me. I lean back against a tree and stare into the fast growing darker canopy of leaves. Soon, I know that David and Ella will be searching for me. I should put out the fire and change back, but I don't.

I start to cry again. For myself though. Because I suddenly feel so lost and alone that it's overwhelming. I need to get back to Sherwood.

Where I belong. If I have to risk my very life, I _will _return to that far-off place of the past. There has to be a way if I was able to get here.

The next day at school I tell Kitty over lunch that I'll go to the auditions that weekend. "Really? That's awesome." Kitty plays with the grape in her hand. "Alena, you're okay, aren't you? I mean the show last night seemed—"

"I'm fine. It's a TV show, remember? I'm writing the BBC but that's all there is to it, really."

Our spot in the cafeteria is a secluded area by the vending machines. Some of the other drama club people sit here as well and occasionally I'll speak to them, but usually it just doesn't go well. "So," I say, "How does an audition go?"

"It's easy. They'll ask you to read a scene or two and ask you why you'd like a part. You can tell 'em whatever you want, even about your…parents." I know that Kitty doesn't truly believe me, but she does acknowledge it, and that's all I ever asked for.

"All right." I stand up to throw away my trash, my long skirt brushing my ankles. The usual wrappers and crumpled napkins bounce off my hair or land on my tray. It's nothing new. I don't even care anymore. They can say and do whatever they—

"Hey Alena! Robin Hood girl!" a girl shouts to the approving giggles of her friends. "Think you could talk to that _idiot_ father of yours about my college tuition? I'm awful poor to pay for it all myself! Or is he too busy in his favorite glade with your darling mother?"

I do something I've never done before. I'm not sure why; most likely a combination of the BBC show last night, my homesickness, and life in general. But I hurl my lunch tray at the girl and turn towards her, fists already moving. My right connects firmly with her face, knocking her to the ground. I leap on top, pummeling her senseless. She screams bloody murder in a high-pitch girly way. When two teachers pull me off of her I can see her nose is bleeding and her eye is going to turning colors in no time. Well, if there's one thing I can do, it's throw a punch.

Who's my father? Yeah, learned well, didn't I?

Whether or not Principal Warner is going to suspend me… That I don't know as I sit in the principal's office waiting for David and Ella. Ella's the one to come. "Sweetheart, what happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, of course not."

"Principal Warner will see you now," Ms. Greening, the secretary, says.

I don't look at Ella or Principal Warner when I go in and sit down in one of four chairs. Ella takes one next to me and the girl I beat up is occupying the one next to who I assume is her father.

Principal Warner is a short balding man whom is called Mr. Dwarf behind his back by the student body. He says in his annoyed, bland voice, "Ms. Hood, Lee Anne tells me that you hit her without provocation. Is this true?"

"She insulted my father, sir," I say without looking up.

"Look me in the eye please."

I stare into his eyes and say, "She insulted my father by calling him an idiot making a crude reference to him and my mother." I look back at the pencil sharpener on his desk, concentrating on the lead shavings in front of it.

"Your father's name?" Principal Warner asks.

"Robin of Locksley, sir." I know that he wants to make sure I'm not referring to David.

Principal Warner and Ella both sigh frustrated sighs. 'Lee Anne's' father practically bursts out laughing. Lee Anne, herself, smirks at me. Principal Warner asks, "Mrs. Levitt, how much therapy is your daughter receiving?"

"She goes once a week and every other Friday," Ella says.

"I want her to go twice a week, if that's okay. Ms. Hood," he then says to me. "You will serve lunch detention for two weeks, and Ms. McLough you will serve three days. You may take your daughters home."

I'm on my feet instantly and out of the office.

I can only hope Lee Anne's eye stays purple for three weeks at least. Three days? Try three years, Mr. Dwarf, that'll do it.

On the way home, Ella attempts to lecture. "What were you thinking, Alena? You've never done anything like this before."

"She insulted my father! What did you expect me to do?" I stare out at the fast moving scenery, gripping the armrest tightly. I never have gotten used to these cars and although prodded to get my permit I had staunchly refused. These things are so strange and dangerous that I want no part in them.

"You could have ignored her or told somebody what had happened."

"Oh yeah, because that does so much good. They do this every day, Ella. After awhile, I was sure to snap. Today was just that day."

Ella turned off the radio, making me wince. People in this time don't appreciate music the way my time did. If anyone ever sang, or played an instrument in my time everyone near stopped to listen. Here, it was an option that was used on command. Sometimes, like now, they simply snapped off the song without care. Ella says, "It's been eight since you were put in foster care and this fantasy has got to stop, Alena!" Ella never yelled, but she was now. "I don't know what happened that has put you in the frame of mind that you're Robin Hood's daughter, but it's not true. You can't believe this. Robin Hood never existed and he is definitely _not_ your father. I don't know what it's going to take, but I know that from now on you are not to go into the woods, watch any of those TV shows, movies, or read those books, because it has gone too far. I'm sorry."

"Ella! Please. Don't take them away." I start to cry, unable to think that she could be so cruel. Those treasured things were my last tie to my true life. I needed them like air.

"Well," she says, making me hope she might relent. "I suppose that is overboard. Promise me that you'll try and let it go though, all right?"

"I promise." It's a lie, as you, the reader, well know. My heritage is not something I'll let go of anytime soon. Oh, the play! I should mention now. "There's something Kitty wanted me to try, Ella, if it's okay with you."

"What is it?"

I take a breath. "There's a Robin Hood play that the community theatre is putting on and auditions are this weekend—"

"No. Absolutely not."

"As a final goodbye, I'd like to participate," I continue without pause, the lie slipping from my tongue easily. "It will help me to realize how wrong I am to believe what I do."

Ella tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel. "Then you'll let it go?"

I nod solemnly.

"Fine. But this is the end of this nonsense."

'This nonsense' is who I am. I'm not letting it go until I'm back under Sherwood's canopy.

That night I start doing what I should've done long ago. I start to research time travel and how far it's come. Sitting up in my room in front of my computer, I Google 'time travel'. The first page is full of science fiction junk with no real meaning. On page five I find a link titled, "Time travel: a contemporary look."

It turns out to be a paper written by a college student.

_Time travel is a long sought after goal that's commonly referred to as science fiction and impossibility but I believe that is possible in one way or another. Although time travel is something that may seem far into our future, it may be nearer than we think._

_A group known only as futuristic and past scientists (F.P.S) has boasted the technology being close at hand. One reporter claimed to have spoken to one of these scientists only to be given choice words and a warning to stay away. The government refuse to get involved in what they think is only an 'elite club of crazy boys meeting in basements' as called by U.S. Senator Greg Hoff._

_It is believed that F.P.S has a base located in Florida at an undisclosed location._

I read the whole report with interest. The rest pretty much said, 'I don't know anything concrete but it's very possible.' Although excited, I'm not satisfied. I start a new search; 'Futuristic and Past Scientists.'

I only have a single page but the link I find is more than enough. It gives me an address and phone number from the contact page, but past that… gibberish meant only to give half answers that in no way help at all. However, the address and phone number are a gold mine.

**You've reached the end! What'd you think? Please please PLEASE review! Your mouse is itching to click over there, I just know it!**


	3. A Tale of Forgetting the Time and Place

**Here we are again. You the reader and myself, the author in another Author's Note. Imagine that! I'M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU AGAIN! WOO HOO! To those who left a review - Bloody Phantom, Winter Cayde, Soccergirl0388, Rawr I'm a Toaster, RobinHood18, and Nicolette-Whitlock - much, much thanks. Sorry beforehand if I didn't quite get the auditions (yes, that's what this one is mostly about) I'm sorry, I don't have any experience and I couldn't find anything helpful online. Hmph. Despite any mistakes, read, review, and enjoy!**

I read the script for the first time; actually looking at it with myself playing one of the characters in mind. My mother plays one of the main roles of course, while two peasant women mostly spew six lines each about how evil the Sheriff of Nottingham is. These three women make up the female part of the cast, and taking that into consideration, I realize how good a friend I really have in Kitty. After all, she's the one into drama and just today she vowed that she wouldn't even audition, but would volunteer backstage instead so that I had more of a chance to get the part of Marian.

I flip through the small green booklet and wonder if I can truly memorize all these lines. Or, I suppose, if I'll even have to since I probably won't get the part. I _want _the part. Kitty was right about that. It would be a dream to be in this play. I look up at my bedroom. The dark green walls have brown leaves around the border of the ceiling and floor that I painted myself. The carpet's color matches the brown leaf pattern perfectly and all around the room I have my portraits and landscapes of home leaning against the wall and on easels. I have a canopy bed but rather than the canopy that came with it, I use a hunter's camouflage realistic leaf cover. It's pretty much a sheet of individual fake leaves sewn into green netting. Are you getting the picture? It gives the impression of staring through the 'canopy' of trees at home.

Back to my script. The play auditions are today, after all. As I read, I picture the event described happening back in my true time. The scene than plays back easily in my mind and I can speak the lines with the conviction that it requires. I smile; the way this is going, it'll be too easy going to the audition. I set down the script and pull out my laptop. I open the Internet browser and head over to Google Maps. Praying for something to turn my way, I hit in the address that I had found online for the F.P.S. people. Really, I don't understand how the author of that paper missed this on the website. I switch it to satellite view and stare at the screen, waiting for it to retrieve the information. It comes up the next second (the whole idea of the Internet is a bit much for me, but I have learned to use it for school, at least) and the pointer shows… nothing. I'm shocked. How could it find the address of abandoned land in the middle of nowhere? How is it even possible?

I zoom in, looking for a mailbox or something. Nothing. I growl at it audibly.

Some one knocks softly on my door. I switch over to my high school's web page. "Come in."

David steps into my room. "Auditions, tonight, huh?"

"Yep." I click on the school lunch schedule.

"Nervous?" he asks. David has always been one of the caring parents who second guess themselves most of the time. "I would be."

"Not at all. I've seen Kitty in enough plays and musicals that I'm fairly sure of myself." I smile confidently, hoping that it will encourage him to leave me alone.

He doesn't, of course. "Well, break a leg, I guess. But listen, you don't have to do this."

"I _want_ to," I promise. "Kitty's picking me up at four-twenty to give me a ride there, so everything's all set." I give him another confident smile.

"Yeah, looks like it." He turns around and closes the door behind him as he leaves.

I sit with a dozen other girls in one row of the theatre. I'm not nervous. I'm amazed, really. All these people want to be involved with my family's history. "Alena Hood." They've called my name. I stand and walk up onto the stage with my head held high. With a smile on my face I face the casting director, director, and a woman whom I'm not sure of her title sitting in the front row. "Why do you think that you can play the part of Marian in our production?"

One deep breath. "I'm her daughter, sir." Kitty had told me that it might not be the best thing to say and it also could be the best thing. It all depended on the general mood. But really, why lie? "I've known her personally and can easily act her character by using what I know of her and what the script says." I'm projecting my voice, like Kitty said, and looking them in the eye.

"Have you done other theatre work, Alena?"

"No, sir, I haven't. But I've watched Kit—Carmen Geringer, my friend, in half a dozen productions."

They smile at me like I'm doing a cute little charade. Really, who am I kidding? I've never done a thing in theatre! "All right. Go to page forty-eight in the script, please."

I flip through the small booklet. Oh, the scene where my father nearly dies. What is it with scriptwriters and killing my parents? Somebody please explain this obsession to me.

The director looks up at me expectantly. "Start where Marian kneels down over Robin's body, please. I'll tell you when to stop."

In this scene it's mostly my mother screaming and crying over my father, begging him to be alive. I close my eyes and picture Nottingham square. My mother next to my father's still body who has just been dangled from a gallows just under the amount of time it would take to kill him. A well thrown knife from my mother's hand saved him. The villagers stand in respectful, tearful silence, wondering how—

"Alena?" the director says, bringing out of the reverie.

Yes, the audition. I know this scene by heart already. I set the script down on the edge of the stage and walk to one end. I close my eyes for one second, open them, and take off running to the other end of the stage. "Robin!" I scream. I collapse to my knees beside a space of air that I delegate as his body. "Robin, please," I stage whisper, loud enough that the audience can hear but in a voice that clearly says it's meant as a whisper. I let tears come to my eyes, touching the face that isn't there. I remember all the pain I've felt this week; watching the BBC show, my homesickness, the event in the cafeteria, worry for my mother's life—and put it into my performance. It's no longer a performance, though; it's a piece of my heart. "I can't do this alone, Robin! Open your eyes this minute!" I mime shaking him by the shoulders. Tears roll down my cheeks and I start crying openly. "Don't—don't die now! Robin, no. We've only just started! No! Come on!" At this point in the script Little John is supposed to try and drag me away and I know it. I let my body lean back just a bit for this and jerk forward. I turn and growl, "Leave me be!"

I lie down and put my head on his invisible chest. "I am begging you, Robin. _Begging_. Live. You have to; for Nottingham and for your men… and me. We need you! I need you!"

At this point Robin is meant to cough and wake up to find Marian right there. It's a rather romantic scene, really, if a bit cheesy. I never get that far, though. "Good job," the one woman says. "Very believable."

"Yes…" the director says. "Never seen an audition like that one." His voice is bland and almost uncaring, but I see a spark of something in his eye. Interest? Annoyance?

I wipe the tears away and drop a curtsy without quite meaning to. I was so wrapped up in the audition that I somehow lapsed back into old habits. "Thank you." I wait, not knowing what comes next. I keep a small smile on my face as I look at them. They seem to be studying me; my face and how I hold myself. They mark something down. I glance down self-consciously. I'm wearing my favorite skirt, a suede brown with leather lacings going up each side. Also, my peasant top. Just the name of it intrigues me, and the look isn't too bad. Are they judging how I look in general medieval garb? Or my natural British accent? Everyone else is sure it's fake; something that I force myself to pull off. But these people… appreciate it.

"We'll call you with any decision," one says.

I smile, curtsy, and leave the stage after grabbing up my script. Nervous, I sit with Kitty to watch the others go. "You were fantastic!" Kitty enthuses. "They were impressed, I know it. And the curtseys were amazing. Nice touch."

"Natural, I guess," I mumble.

Afterwards, Kitty informs me that mine was the best and that if I didn't get a call back she'd not only sue, but also be very surprised. I hope she's right. We head out through the lobby just as the first trickling of boys for the auditions come in the door. I manage to knock straight into one outside as I explode out the door. We both sort of stutter at one another, until I say, "Sorry. That was my fault." We both lapse out of the apologetic awkwardness.

"You're either British or role acting. Which one?"

"Um, I'm from England. Nottinghamshire, actually. I grew up there, until I was eight, when I came here." I look at my feet waiting for him to make a joke about me.

"Cool." And he walks into the building.

'Cool'? Was that some sort of brush-off or was it genuine? Why did I care, even?

I forget about him by the time Kitty drives me home. She got her license only a few days ago. "Soooo…" she says. "How did you feel up on stage?"

"I got lost," I answer truthfully. "I forgot where I was. Here versus home."

When I walk in the front door, Ella's just finished setting out supper and David's reading the paper. Both of them look up at me the minute I close the door. Dvid talks first. "Well? How'd you do."

"Fine," I say. "Kitty thought I did well and that the theatre people liked my audition."

"That's good," Ella comments.

I smile and nod. An uncomfortable silence follows which means that they still don't approve of this play business. "Let's eat, huh?" I say quickly, sitting down in my designated chair.

The next day, I stare at the phone and the number in my hand. I don't know what I'll say if some one picks up. I think for half a second and then snap my fingers. "Duh."

I dial the number without a second thought. It rings once, twice, three times. I glare meaningfully at the at the voice receiver. On the seventh ring I get an answering machine. A voice calmly informs me that I have reached the following number and recited back what I had dialed. If I wished to leave a message, wait for the tone. When the low beep sounded in my ear, I spoke quickly and without any quivering of my voice. "Yes, this is Madison Beverly, I'm currently a science major in college and I'm working on a research project that involves short, brief interviews with professional scientists. If you would call me back at this number, I would greatly appreciate it." I rattle off my cell phone number. "I look forward from hearing from you soon. Thank you."

I hang up. I suppose that's that. All that's left now is to wait. I proceed up the stairs to bury myself in Elsa Watson's wonderful _Maid Marian_. It's a newer addition to my collection and I'm enjoying it more than any other I've read, with a few exceptions. Nothing's perfect though.

In the back of head, although I'm consuming my book, I'm thinking about getting a call back. I _want_ it. No, I _need _it. That rush that I'd felt on stage… I had to feel it again somehow.

**There you have it; the third chapter. How'd you like it? I hope you liked it enough to hit that pretty little review button! Now please imagine a puppy looking at you with those pitiful pleading deep brown eyes. (Or Puss 'n Boots on Shrek.) That is me right now, looking at you. Review? Puh-leeeeeeeze?**


	4. A Tale of Failure and Lock Picking

**Another chapter and a thank you to all my reviewers last chapter! I love you all! Read, review, and enjoy!**

"Yes, this is the Charles Hertz from the Tales of Sherwood audtion. I'm calling to let you know that we've decided to put you among the call-backs for the part of Marian."

"Really?" I half squeal.

"Absolutely. Call back audtions are this Saturday at 2:00 PM. We'll see you there."

"Yeah. Thank you!" The minute I hang up I call Kitty. "I have a call back! Kitty, I have a call back!"

"Ha. I told you that you'd get one. Want me to give you a lift?"

"If you're free."

"For you, Alena, I'm always free."

I giggle in my euphoria about the call back. "I know. You love it there, anyway."

"Always fun to watch the drama geeks like myself. Alena, you really were amazing, you know. At the audition, I mean. I'm not going to be surprised in the least if you get the part."

"Thanks for your enthusiasm, but we still don't know, do we?"

Although I have a call back from the theatre I still need my call back from those Futuristic and Past Scientists. I expect (or hope) to get one in the next week or two. If I don't get one, I don't know what I'll do next. I could get a set of directions off of Google Maps and con Kitty into driving me out there. If I don't get a return call and then can't find anything at this site… I really don't know what else to do. I need to get home. 1193 is so much more inviting than 2008. Aside from what I've now learned about hygiene, at least. If you discount the sheriff and what was the current state of peasantry it was all and all a much more pleasant place to live. Although while we were learning about it in school I got the general feeling that Mr. Boveir disliked my home time period. He always had this grimace on his face whenever he mentioned it. Some the girls in class asked the most ridiculous questions; "Where would you find dragons in medieval Europe?" and "What about the witches?" What did they think my home was? A fairy tale? We don't have witches, just local quacks and healers. Same for dragons, only they were the glorified rumors told at bedsides and around campfires. Honestly, modern girls have lost all ability to think rationally. My mother would scoff at their stupidity.

I look over the F.P.S. web page again. No clues, no hints. The same as before. I shut down the laptop and put it away. What's the point?

I drop into a dream so wonderful I could taste it.

_"So there he was, my cousin Daniel was in front of the most awful crone-like hag imaginable," Little John said with gusto from the other side of the fire. "And she said to him, she says, 'In three days if you do not bring to me the fattest of your pigs you shall receive a curse so dreadful that you shall wish to die in a week.' Well, my cousin says to her, 'You shall have your pig.' And leaves—" Little John snaps his fingers "—just like that."_

_"Does he give her the pig?" I ask eagerly, my six-year-old voice high with anxiety over the story. My mother is very calmly combing my long hair and braiding it back._

_"Alena," he admonishes. "Do you not trust my cousin's word?"_

_"No, I don't trust yours!" I sniff indignantly. It's all in fun and everyone knows it. Alan-a-Dale looks up and smiles from his place next to Ellen where they're lounging together and listening to the story._

_Little John frowns deeply. "I suppose then, that you don't want to hear the rest of this story!"_

_"Oh no! Please, do finish it." _

_He finishes the story with the story-telling finesse that he's always had. Apparently this cousin of his ended up duped out of his best pig and never saw the crone again. I smiled at the ending._

_I proclaimed, "Serves him right, for listening to such a lie."_

When I wake I realize I fell asleep in my denim skirt and that it's rather uncomfortable. I look at the bedside clock. 5:00 in the morning! I must have been tired. That dream though… I'd happily fall asleep at awkward hours of the day for a few more like that one.

Saturday afternoon, I glance at the clock. 1:42. I'm ready. My hair is braided back behind my head in one single plait that falls a few inches farther than my shoulder blades. A few wisps have escaped, but I don't care. My skirt swishes around my ankles as I pace by the front window, waiting for Kitty.

When she pulls into our driveway, I practically fly out the door.

After the audition I realize how completely I failed. I would never get the part. They had asked me to audition with one of the call-backs for Robin. I froze for the first five minutes. I looked at my partner and stuttered through lines that I'd been able to recite perfectly before. It must have been the fact that no matter what I did or pretended… putting my father's name on this boy didn't feel right. "Marian," he had said, faking his way through an awful British accent. He took both of my hands in his, looking deep into my eyes. "You don't have to do this."

"I—I mean, yes I do." I blushed furiously. I was never going to get the part I could hear pens scratching on paper. _I am Robin Hood's daughter. I will conquer this_. I could feel the courage coming back. "The sheriff cannot hurt me."

My partner's voice raised in argument. "Being a spy in the castle is _not_ necessary for you! It only puts you in further danger than you already are!"

"Robin," I said, keeping my tone calm but in an arguing tone. "You are worth the danger to me. I want to help and this is the only way I can unless I join in the forest and you won't let me do that."

He sighed. It was so real that I wondered if he was sighing about my poor performance. "If anything happened to you—"

I interrupted the protest by elevating myself to my tiptoes to plant a rather long kiss on his lips. Now this was the most awkward thing to do for the audition even with my shaky beginning. I have never kissed anyone before. Not once. I was too much of a freak to get asked out and frankly didn't care to be anyway. Especially not after the way this kiss felt.

"Please," I stage whispered.

After breaking the kiss off I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned into him. "Be careful," my stage partner said.

That was the end of the scene and the end of the audition. I looked out into the small audience and saw the guy I had run into the time before. I couldn't understand the look on his face… And I just know that I lost the part.

I fish my French books out of my locker shut it, giving the lock a twist. I swerve easily through the crowd of students stampeding through the hall.

"Alena, wait up," I hear Kitty call behind. I turn to find her behind and the girl I punched in the cafeteria not too much farther behind her with a death glare painted across her face. I grab Kitty's elbow and swerve quickly to the other side of the hall and then back. Kitty tries to protest but I shush her. I dive beside the end of a row of lockers and flip a bobby pin from my hair. It only takes me a minute to pick the lock on the janitor's closet and close the door behind me.

"What are you _doing_?" Kitty asks.

"I've got a warrant issued for my death and I'm trying to stay alive," I answer.

She rolls her eyes in the dark. "I was serious."

"So was I."

Kitty elbows me. "Fine. But since when do you pick locks?"

I grin. "I'm a born criminal, you know."

Kitty sighs, giving up on a real answer. "Can we get out of here now? I don't want to be late for my class. I try to keep a clean record, unlike some people."

I defend myself even though I know it's not true. It's not uncommon for me to be absent once or twice a month. I wait two more minutes and then cautiously peek out of the door. "Clear." We're back in the crush of students and Kitty is glaring at me.

"If I'm late I will kill you in your sleep."

I try not to laugh. "I keep a dagger under my pillow; I'm not sure which one of us would die first." I'm lying, of course.

She shoves me playfully and waves as she takes the stairs to her class.

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